We have been married for three years, but every night my husband sleeps…
My name is Jasmine. I’m pretty, I have a stable job, and I’m married to the man of my dreams — Dave.
But there is one huge problem in our marriage. For three years, I’ve felt like I’ve been sharing my husband with someone else. Not another woman, but his mother.
Doña Rosa is only 60 years old. She’s still strong, can walk, and can cook. But every night, when the clock strikes eleven, Dave says goodbye to me.
“Jas, I’m going to sleep on the other side. In Mom’s room,” he says, kissing my forehead.
At first, I understood. Dave said his mother had insomnia and needed someone beside her. But one year passed, then two, then three… and nothing changed. We had no privacy. No intimacy at night. I felt like I was only a wife on paper, while his real priority was still his mother.
My friends began to doubt.
“That’s really weird, Jas. His mom is already old, does she still need someone to sleep with her? What if… something else is going on?”
“He’s too much of a mama’s boy. Just leave him.”
Because of all the bad influence, my head filled with horrible thoughts. What if he didn’t desire me anymore because he was too attached to his mother? I felt disgusted by the thought, but I couldn’t stop it. I became cold toward Doña Rosa. I stopped talking to her in the mornings. I served meals with irritation. In my mind, she had become my rival for my husband’s attention.
One night, on our anniversary, I cooked a special dinner. I wore a sexy nightgown. I hoped that this time, Dave would stay with me.
But when 11:00 p.m. came, Dave stood up.
“Happy anniversary, love. But I have to go to Mom. She’s waiting for me.”
I exploded.
“Dave! It’s our anniversary! Is your mother more important than your wife?! Three years, Dave! I’m exhausted! If you don’t want to sleep here, then let’s just separate!”
Dave only lowered his head, looking completely drained.
“Sorry, Jas. You don’t understand… Go to sleep.”
He left the room and closed the door.
I didn’t sleep that night. I was furious. I wanted to know what was really inside that room I was never allowed to enter at night. Dave always said it was forbidden.
I carefully got up. I took the spare key to Doña Rosa’s room that I had hidden long ago.
I walked down the hallway. The house was silent.
When I reached her door, I heard moaning sounds.
“Errrr… Ahhh…”
My heart started pounding. My chest felt tight. What was that?
I slowly inserted the key. Click.
I opened the door suddenly.
“DAVE! WHAT ARE YOU DO—”
I froze. My scream turned into a choking sob. What I thought would be a perverse scene was actually a nightmare.
The room smelled of medicine, vomit, and feces.
In the middle of the bed, Doña Rosa’s hands and feet were tied with soft cloth. She was thrashing, convulsing. Her eyes were wide open but empty. She was screaming words that made no sense.
Dave?
He was wearing gloves. He was holding his mother tightly as she struggled violently. Dave’s arms were covered in scratches and bruises.
“Shhh… Ma… I’m here. It’s Dave. Calm down, Ma,” he whispered while crying.
Beside the bed was a basin filled with vomit and feces. Doña Rosa was having a severe episode of night terrors and dementia that only occurred at night.
Dave saw me. His eyes widened.
“Jas! Get out! Don’t look!” he shouted while trying to stop his mother from biting her own tongue.
I didn’t leave.
I dropped to my knees on the floor, crying.
My mother-in-law… the woman I thought was my rival… was seriously ill.
And my husband… the man I thought was just a “mama’s boy”… was turning into a nurse, a caregiver, and a human shield for his mother every single night.
I stepped forward to help.
“Dave, what should I do?” I asked through tears.
“Hold her legs, Jas. Wipe her sweat. Please.”
For the first time in three years, I saw the truth. It took two hours before Doña Rosa finally calmed down and fell asleep.
After that, Dave collapsed onto the floor, exhausted. His arms were bleeding from her scratches.
I got medicine and treated his wounds.
“Why?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide this from me?”
Dave looked at me, full of shame.
“Because, Jas… I was embarrassed. For my mom. She used to be a strong woman, right? I didn’t want you to see her like this — out of control, dirty, like an animal. I wanted to preserve her dignity in your eyes.”
He held my hand.
“And also… I was scared. Scared that if you knew how heavy my responsibility was… you would leave me. That you’d think my family was a burden. So I decided to carry everything alone. Every night, I endure this, so that in the morning, you can still see her looking okay.”
I broke down crying. I hugged Dave tightly.
How foolish I was. How selfish.
While I was complaining about the lack of affection, my husband was nearly killing himself from exhaustion taking care of his mother. While I was thinking badly of them, Dave was only protecting his mother’s image and our marriage.
“I’m sorry, Dave… I’m so sorry,” I cried.
“I will never leave you. We’re married. In sickness and in health. We share everything. Even taking care of your mom.”
The next morning, everything changed.
I no longer doubted. Every night, Dave and I entered Mama Rosa’s room together.
We hired a specialist using my savings. We discovered that she had Sundowning Syndrome and PTSD from childhood trauma. She was given proper treatment.
Her episodes decreased.
Sometimes, when she’s calm at night, Doña Rosa holds my hand.
“Thank you, my child,” she whispers, even when she doesn’t recognize me.
“Thank you for loving my son.”
I learned that marriage isn’t just about laughter and romance. True love is accepting each other’s “baggage.” And sometimes, the secrets our spouse keeps are not because of betrayal, but because of deep love and fear of losing us.
Today, Dave and I are stronger than ever.
Because now I know that a man who can love his mother that deeply… is a man who can give everything for me.